


if i retreat -- words, wars and symphonies,

by pluvieux



Category: Original Work
Genre: prose poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 13:55:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14190444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pluvieux/pseuds/pluvieux
Summary: 128 / 4 months, 6 days away from 181 month from 1 year





	if i retreat -- words, wars and symphonies,

numb.

amica mea, i am bloodthirsty,  
feverish,

-

a little bit more bleach to get the blood off the floor  
les gouttes de sang s'attendent,   
afraid to quitter le bastion de grâce that sustained them  
fibres stretched + pulled  
to the brink of profanity

ear shattering  
a piercing shriek of an amethyst tip entered  
parting flesh from flesh  
meat from bone + sweet liquid  
poured forth  
searing a river of flesh devouring pleasure

-

the clouds gathered,  
poured,  
rose, ou rouge, swallowed

plunging kamikaze droplets,  
screaming like hordes,  
drowning out all other sounds but their own,,,

into the river styx,  
engulfing the surface of all it touches  
rushing,  
rushing

heated tongues have no temperance to spare.

-

"It is new, indeed, for I made it last night in a dream of strange cities,"

-

i feel large and tragic  
what a god.damned. shame,  
you cant plan love or heartache

almost violent, dripping  
unbearable  
barbaric  
a need, an urge,   
constant

-

_hey, i can feel you forgetting me_

-

existence doesn't quite feel like it's all that worth my time anymore  
really maybe i died long ago,  
my body still moving on muscle memory

"i am a vessel for my thoughts  
the entry plug, the throne of the soul"

-

steaming hot showers,   
flushing my skin, i am warm  
loneliness, this cold feeling of abandon  
waits for me, hits me and gives me goosebumps,   
as soon as i open the bathroom door.

a growing volcano approaching the hour of eruption  
let's just calm down,  
let this boil  
hold each other instead, tight,   
hug like a death grip

-

better off alone,  
better off staying in this EVA

-

(cant be an evangelion pilot without a dead mother,  
would that count, for us, for bitches dead to us?)

-

dead, dead, dying at your hands  
will you tighten your grip on the handle,  
or let it clatter to the floor?

-

haunting lover,  
no ghost nor verse  
left for me tonight. 

the floorboards creak, break under my feet  
fall into a silence that sounds a lot like you sometimes

-

it all returns to nothing, it all comes  
tumbling down,   
tumbling down,  
tumbling down

-

"inevitability is comfort."

**Author's Note:**

> "what's my onee-chan up to?"


End file.
